Now here's something you weren't expecting - a mellow Frank Black. Conserving his nerve-shredding howl and slashing guitars for the Pixies' reunion tours, Black's first solo album since 1996's The Cult of Ray finds him in laid-back and melodious form. In the unlikely setting of Nashville, with the unexpected company of adept soul guitarists and country stalwarts, Black moseys through the byways of Americana and Memphis soul. His muted but startling lyrics on I Burn Today, Another Velvet Nightmare and Sing for Joy trace sinister intent beneath these dulcet tones, but a cover of Dark End of the Street (sung at the brittle top of his range) is astonishingly simple and surprisingly affecting. Given the unpredictable twists in his interests, there's no telling where this might lead him, but the stealthily melodic Honeycomb makes for another welcome detour.
www.frankblack.net Peter Crawley
Maybe, just once, someone will call me "sir" without adding, "you're making a scene."
